by Harris Bloom
Stage Fright
We've all had that nightmare - the one when you're in front of a class, or a boardroom full of suits, or whatever audience you may find yourself addressing, and suddenly, you're unable to speak as dozens of people watch you sweat and stammer.
That happened to me during my second show... with my girlfriend, my mom, and about twenty-five friends in the audience. After telling a joke that got no reaction, every comic's worst fear (no, not being hit on by Roseanne) was realized - I froze, totally incapable to remembering the rest of my act.
I stood there for about a minute, pacing about, attempting to improvise ("Well, this is awkward"), while also trying to recall any of my jokes. I know it was "only" a minute because I have the tape... until watching it, I could've sworn it was four hours. While most of my friends were sitting with their hands over their eyes, there was one person laughing hysterically - my brother. I don't think he has been that happy since his baby was born.
"At least one person's digging this," I said, pointing him out. That got an applause break. Audiences want to see you do well. The only reason I didn't slink offstage was because my girlfriend, who'd heard me practice my act ad nauseum at home, was sitting in the front row...
"So where do you work?" She asked.
"Oh yeah, I work at ....." And off I went.
I'd like to say that I completed that set, interrupted only by frequent laughter and applause breaks, but I can not. After finishing my work bit, which I sped through as if there was a free lobster buffet awaiting me backstage, I once again forgot the rest of my set.
"Do you have a dog?" asked a familiar voice.
"A dog? Oh yeah, so my girlfriend and I ...." I restarted, to the laughter of the audience. At this point they thought the whole thing was a put-on, a two person act a la Penn and Teller, but with Teller in charge of talking. I flailed through the rest of my set and ran offstage.
The ironic thing is that one of the producers told me that since I brought so many people (it was a four-person bringer show) that I was going to be able to do a longer set. If I were on any longer than I was, I might've accidentally electrocuted myself with my sweat that was dripping onto the microphone.
A year and a half later, I now sometimes host that same bringer show. A few weeks ago, a young comic forgot his act, and left the stage after four minutes of what should've been a seven minute set.
"Don't sweat it," I consoled him backstage, "You just gotta get back up again and in a few weeks, this'll just be a good story. Trust me."
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